


Moondust

by tsukeishima



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, TsukkiKage Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 23:44:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5474987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsukeishima/pseuds/tsukeishima
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tsukishima meets an old friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moondust

**Author's Note:**

> written for tkkgwk day 3 - Music

When he was younger, Tsukishima’s mother signed him up for piano lessons. Their next door neighbor back then was a music teacher, and in between sharing recipes and gossips his mother had managed to wheedle lessons from her. The lady didn’t mind, and taking a good look at his hands, pronounced him to be a natural.

            Tsukishima supposed that he shouldn’t have taken those words to heart, that the length of his fingers or the shape of his hands had no correlation whatsoever with his supposed “talent” with the instrument. He worked hard on it; from the very first lesson where he studied the basics to when he started playing full pieces. He hid music sheets inside his books and read them over during breaks, forgetting about them only when it was time for volleyball practice.

            Did he enjoy it? Maybe so. He honestly couldn’t pinpoint where his enthusiasm for it began and where it ended, or if it was purely studious attentiveness that kept him playing. Back then he was more or less interested in anything, compared to his usual apathy in the present. The coolness of the ivory keys beneath his fingers were a small comfort at times, the soft notes flowing out of the piano pleasing to his ears. There was also pride in the knowledge that he can play it, compared to most of the kids his age, his gloating surfacing during music classes.

            And then… he stopped.

            After the Day-Which-Shall-Never-Be-Mentioned, Tsukishima had lost all his enthusiasm for anything. He grew more sullen and refused to play the piano, even going so far as to refusing to go to his lessons. His mother had apologized over and over but never reprimanded him for it, which only made him angrier. He attended lessons once more, played recklessly he could feel the keys shaking under his skin, the silence of his teacher, once full of praise, more deafening than his music. One week after his rebellion, she told him he had learned everything he can and that lessons were finally, over. She left the month after, leaving a folder full of sheet music to him.

            It only had one song in it, his supposed entry piece for the concour she had been telling him. Before he didn’t pay mind to it, thinking that he’d just play and he was done. But the painful recollections of his brother’s face, and his own horrifying discovery shattered that naïve sensibility of his. The chance that he may lose, feel that same pain all over again directly, was enough to make him stash away the musical scores, and shut down the lid to his piano for good. And there it stayed, until his parents moved it away somewhere.

            His parents must’ve found it again. It was supposed to be a small visit; just to introduce his boyfriend and maybe eat some of his mother’s cooking. He didn’t expect to see his old piano, standing proudly in its usual place. It was obviously well taken care of, the varnished wood shining happily, the surfaces wiped clean of the dust that must’ve accumulated over the years.

            He took a seat, the cushioning on the stool having lost most of its volume. He thought of the boy who sat down on the very same chair for many years, playing the piano before him. A smile crept unbidden to his lips, the image of a younger him striking a wistful note deep inside him. Wiping his hands on his pants, an old habit of his, he pushed back the lid of the piano and was greeted by a familiar set of black and white keys.

            “Do you know how to play the piano?” his boyfriend’s voice cut into his musings. He looked behind him and saw Kageyama, bearing glasses of tea.

            He nodded, turning back to the instrument. “I learned when I was younger.”

            “I didn’t know that.”

            He chuckled softly. “It’s a well-kept secret. Come, sit with me.” He patted the space beside him.

            Kageyama’s weight was unfamiliar but welcome, a change from his solitary days of playing the piano all by himself. He watched him look at the keys curiously before reaching out to press one of them. A full note rang around the room, stirring up the air. Tsukishima could feel himself trembling, undone wholly by that one note. He wanted to play.

            Positioning his fingers on top of the keys, he took a deep breath, and began to play. His fingers moved on their own accord, gliding across the black and white tiles with ease, his body remembering what his brain cannot. He coaxed music out of the instrument, the way he was taught how, tempos and notes running through his head along with the melody. He felt again the warm thrill, the soothing calm the music brought him. Beside him, Kageyama had leant against his side, his head on his shoulder.

            He continued on, the feeling of his boyfriend’s warmth mingling with his, adding to the moment. There was only the two of them and the piano; the world had dissolved into a place composed purely of music and of Kageyama, a place he was entirely comfortable with. It was something he very much loved.

            “What’s the name of that song?” Kageyama asked softly, as if not daring to break the tranquility left behind by Tsuksishima’s music. He still has not moved his head from its perch on his boyfriend’s shoulder.

            Tsukishima wiped his hands on his pants, old habits die hard, he supposed. “It’s Clair de Lune.”

            “Clair de-what?” Kageyama’s voice is now on full force.

            “It’s French. It means,” he paused, the realization dawning on him. “Moonlight.” Fitting, his old teacher must’ve thought, to make him play a song with his namesake.

            Kageyama hummed. “It fits you. The song, I mean.”

            “Really? Care to explain, my liege?”

            Kageyama frowned at his teasing. “I don’t want to anymore.”

            Tsukishima chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss against Kageyama’s neck. Kageyama let out a small sneeze, disguising his sudden urge to laugh.

            “The moon is always there, right?” Kageyama said, his tone musing. “Even if it’s morning and the sun is out, or when there are lots of clouds around, the moon is always there.”

            “Glad to know you still retained much of your science lessons.” Tsukishima snickered, letting out a yelp when Kageyama elbowed him hard.

            “Stop teasing me.”

            “Yes, Your Highness.” Wrapping an arm around Kageyama’s shoulder, partly to prevent him for hitting him again and partly because he wanted to, Tsukishima let out a small sigh at their contact. “So, you were saying about the moon?”

            Kageyama looked at him blankly for a moment, realization dawning on his features when he finally remembered the topic he was discussing a while ago. “Uh, the moon is always there, did I say that already?”

            “Yes, you did.”

            “Well, it’s just like you isn’t it?”

            Tsukishima sat straighter, Kageyama’s seriousness jolting his attention. Kageyama didn’t notice, his gaze pensive.

            “You’re always there. You don’t say much so we don’t always notice you’re there but when you make yourself know, you make sure everyone does. You try your best, and you help however you can.” Kageyama shifted, facing him fully as he wrapped his arms around Tsukishima’s waist.

            “You’re always there for me.” His words were mumbled through the fabric of Tsukishima’s sweater but he heard it all the same.

            Over the course of their relationship, it was always Kageyama who said embarrassing things, whether about himself or about them. And over the same span of time, it was always Tsukishima who teased him for them. But now, in a seemingly vulnerable and tender moment, Tsukishima couldn’t let himself continue their little tradition. Moving himself so he can shift Kageyama, settling on his lap, he finally held him close, burrowing his nose in the crook of his neck, breathing him in.

            “Thank you.” Tsukishima whispered, gripping him tighter.

            Kageyama didn’t reply. Reaching out to hold Tsukishima close, he pulled him down and kissed him.

            “Play the song again?” he asked.

            “All right.”


End file.
